


Screwge'd - A Sherlolly Smutmas Carol

by Maejones



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU, Christmas Themed, Explicit Descriptions, F/M, Humor, Love, Molly Hooper - Freeform, Romance, Sherlock Holmes - Freeform, Sherlolly - Freeform, Smut, intercourse, silly fun, wee bit o angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-02-19 10:41:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13122060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maejones/pseuds/Maejones
Summary: Molly Hooper entertains the third spirit in this twist on "A Christmas Carol", the Ghost of Christmas Future. What does her future hold? What lessons will she glean? Where does the smut cum in? Read on to find out :D





	Screwge'd - A Sherlolly Smutmas Carol

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [Smutfest2017](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Smutfest2017) collection. 



"A-Are you the ghost of Christmas Future?" Molly rasped.

She shuffled back in her bed as the black-shrouded figure drifted forward with his craggy scythe in hand. She heard no footfalls nor whispers of breath nor the swish of his long robes over the floor. He was a specter, indeed. Only when she began to shrink back did he raise an arm and extend it towards her. His voluminous sleeve drew back only just enough to expose a long, lean finger. She watched in fascination as he crooked it (his nail was neatly manicured much to her surprise) and beckoned for her to follow. She gripped her covers with quaking hands for a moment. She had been through this routine already with her other two visitors but still, she felt an acute embarrassment about once again suffering another spiritual admonition wearing little more than a slinky negligee. 

Mr. Future was none to pleased with her hesitation. He whirled and jabbed a finger at her bedroom door. A low growl rumbled all around her and rattled the ornaments atop her bureau.

"Alright, alright!" -she hopped from bed- "hold your . . .  erm,  _hell steeds_?"

The ghost snorted and turned his back. She couldn't help notice the breadth of his shoulders and the musculature of his back evident underneath his draping shroud. Her lips poked out. She thought good old Mister Future was supposed to be a skeleton or something. He floated towards the door. It creaked open with a theatrical groan to a blinding white light. Molly almost snickered. The spirits were really pouring this on quite thick, she mused. Her guide's hooded head rotated slowly. Molly swallowed upon gazing at the fathomless darkness where the ghost's face should be.

"You find this amusing, human?" a deep voice vibrated through her form from under his hood.

She chewed her lip. The hairs on her arms stood on end. His deep baritone shouldn't have been sexy but its deep timber made knots form in her stomach. In fact, his tone was reminiscent of that of a certain consulting detective she knew, except there was an underlying echo and a sort of out-of-this-world resonance inherent in every syllable he uttered.

"Ah, erm, no!"

Future-dude swept in an arc. In a matter of heartbeats, he loomed over her again. Her eyes flitted up to where the scythe's blade cantilevered menacingly over her head.

"Th-That is quite the implement," she breathed as she studied the marred metal edge and the heavy wooden handle, "and the staff, it's so . . .  _thick_."

His large hand flexed and squeezed the length of the snath. His hood twitched as if she had caught him by surprise.

"It is robust, yes."

Molly's fingers danced on her forearms. Goosebumps prickled up her legs and over her shoulders.

"Is it difficult to wield?" she asked, her voice dropped an octave. "I mean, is it . . . hard?" 

She suppressed a squeak at her own boldness. Good lord, she thought, what was she thinking hitting on the Ghost of Christmas Future? Death himself? She felt the pulse of a warm huff as his shroud dipped. She fluttered her lashes. He was tilting his head as if . . .  as if . . . he was checking her out! Another breath, this one smelling vaguely of roasted chestnuts, cinnamon and vanilla eggnog, heated her face.

"You take an unusual interest in my tool, Molly Hooper."

She gulped. "Ah, well, it's just so impressive."

A sound, low and guttural, rattled from his form. "You are a vexing client. I am meant to be showing you your future-"

Molly fiddled with her hair nervously. She curled her toes. Her slinky negligee quivered on her form.

"Um, yeah, but surely there is more than one way to teach me a lesson?" she asked huskily. "The future is just the unknown, right?"

The ghost inched closer. She felt consumed by his shadow. An unearthly heat emanated from his frame; it made her temperature rise. 

"Indeed, human. The unknown haunts all men."

"And you?" Molly didn't know exactly when it happened, but she was nearly pressed against the phantom and her hands had found his robes. "Do you ever find yourself needing to . . . explore the unfamiliar?"

She tugged on the halves of his robe imploringly. What she was after, she did not know. Her breath quickened. There was just something about the strange being that piqued her interest. Her heart began to race. Her blood thundered through her veins. He did not move away. In fact, a heavy exhalation poured from under the cloak's hood. Next thing she knew, the hood flew back as if yanked by an unseen hand and a dark head descended. Molly just made out the vague impression of inky, coiling locks and pale skin before plump lips swooped over hers.

She was on fire in an instant. She plastered herself against the ghost and threw an arm around his neck to bend her body against his solid length while he kissed her. An impossibly large hand scrunched the satin of her nightdress in the small of her back. Greedy, insistent lips tugged and pulled at her own. She heard something swish by followed by a great thump and clatter. Another hand slid up her back and buried itself in the loose tresses at her neck. Her entire being quaked, her belly quivered. She had just gotten the Ghost of Christmas Future to abandon his scythe. It was a phenomenal rush. 

Large fingers delved deeper in her hair. A thumb rubbed the base of her skull. His mouth felt as if it was devouring her soul. She groaned as his tongue coaxed hers out to play.

"Mmmnnn," she murmured against its onslaught, "my god!"

His hand finally relaxed and slid down over the curve of her arse. Larger fingers explored down then glided back up her thigh under her negligee.

"Curses, human," he grumbled, "you are not wearing knickers."

She giggled against his lips and pulled back to look at him. Her mouth fell open.

"Fuck me! Holy, Christ! Y-You look just like Sh-Sherlock!"

Mr. Future was her detective's spitting image, in fact, except that his eyes had no irises or pupils. They were just black, glittering pools. As well, his skin was much paler than Sherlock's, a pallor akin to fresh fallen snow. 

"Wh-Why do you look like him?" she whispered.

His chuckle was low and rumbling. "I represent, at all times, your future, Molly Hooper."

Her eyes bugged from her sockets. "Sh-Sherlock is my future?"

The ghosts's eyes hooded lazily. His lips parted slowly and a hint of a smile played across their generous curve. 

"He is your present, if you want him to be."

Once again, her heart started to beat wildly. Anything cerebral and of higher thought fled. In its place, the lower levels of her consciousness began to chant.

 _We want. We want. We want. We need. We need. We need._

"Oh, fuck, yes. I want you so bad."

"Mmm, well, then you will have me," he murmured, "and I you."

With a flick of his fingers, his robe parted to reveal a veritable god. He was all lean, angular musculature. Her eyes traveled downwards to his other staff. She gasped.

"Holy hell," she whimpered.

The ghost had taken liberties with his construction of Sherlock's form. He had to have done so! His cock was not only long and thick, but it curved slightly upwards with fleshy, parallel ridges along the top. The helmet was perfectly smooth and the entire length of it was as pale as the rest of his flesh save only for streaks of engorged, blue veins. She had only a second more to savor its flawlessness before he walked her back towards her bed. Her bedroom door slammed shut, extinguishing the portal to whatever future he had planned for them to visit. With a snap of his fingers, her bedside lamp illuminated her bedroom in a warm glow. She bit her lip as his cock cast a long shadow across her parquet floors.

"Is it satisfactory?" the ghost asked in a ragged tone.

Molly nodded. "Muh-huh, oooh, ye-ah."

"Hmm, excellent."

Her calves bumped into her bed and her eyes flew up from his cock. She licked her lips. He was so fucking beautiful, like a fantasy come true.

"Are you ready?" he asked.

She swore she saw stars deep in the depths of his eyes. Her chest rose and fell with a heavy exchange of air. Was she ready, he asked? Her cunt was indescribably hot and needy. She could think of nothing but satiating and quelling the empty ache between her legs, an ache that needed a long, ridged, ghost cock to rut it out of existence. Her folds felt flushed and her insides kept stinging with a gathering of dampness. She knew if he delved fingers to her juncture at that instant, they would come away covered in a slick film.

"So ready," she finally responded.

Mr. Future raised a hand and skimmed his fingers just shy of her negligee. She felt it sag and loosen and disintegrate away from her body as every seam fell apart. As the thin fabric cascaded down, her nipples tightened and peaked. Cool air prickled her flesh all over. She flushed as he surveyed her slender frame.

"You please me, tiny human," he murmured as his eyes scanned all the way to her toes and back up, "yes, very much so."

"Erm, thanks?"

How was one supposed to respond to a compliment from an un-dead scion of death anyway? She swallowed a mass in her throat. For a few seconds, she almost panicked. What the fuckety-fuck was she doing? However, she was far too gone; lost to her raging lust for the paranormal twin of Sherlock Holmes. 

"Wha-"

Suddenly, she was levitating, her feet left the floor and she floated up before settling back down on the bed. The ghost lifted his chin and his robes shrugged off his shoulders and floated to the corner where they appeared to hang on an invisible hook. Molly trembled all over when he crawled onto the bed between her legs. Her bed's frame squeaked in protest and the mattress dipped under his weight. He lingered there a moment on his knees gazing down at her, his strong thighs pressed against the back of hers. His rigid cock bobbed impatiently. She longed to reach for it but was attacked with a bout of bashfulness. Heat flooded her neck and chest. Her insides squirmed. Again, she wondered what she had gotten herself into.

With a smirk, the ghost leaned down over her and she felt the tip of his spear bop her stomach. A shiver coursed her entire frame and the moment burned in her memory. In a  flash, she retained a vivid snapshot of everything assaulting her senses. She could feel it all, all at once. The way the wrinkles in her bed linens pressed into her bum and back, the pull in her groin as he settled lower and his hips pushed her legs apart, the warmth of his breath as it washed over her and the press of his forearms on either side of her rib cage.

There was no foreplay, no preparation, just the sudden insistence of something large and round at her entry. She pulled her knees back and opened herself to the invasion. She didn't need anything more. She just needed to quiet the gaping yawn of her desire.

"Unh! Oh, fuck!"

 _"Curses,"_  she thought,  _"he's fucking huge!"_

Her chin went up and she gasped for a breath. Inwards he pushed. First there was the pressure of his head as he spread her apart, then the widening! She panted as she took him. 

"Mmmmuuunh!" 

And he was in, past the edge of his helmet. He continued forward. She felt every bump of every delicious ridge along the top of his cock. Forward again, more pressure, more spread. Her cunt swelled with heat and need. As each inch claimed her, she felt an increase in mouth-watering satisfaction as the void was vanquished.Finally, he groaned, shuddered and pushed all the way down until he was completely buried in her wet warmth.

"Oh, my fucking god," she whispered.

"Mmm, Molly Hooper-" his chest settled over hers "I have not felt such pleasure in centuries . . . perhaps, never. Your grasp is divine."

She squeezed on him and his cock stiffened inside her. His hands found her arms then and pushed them up over her head. He held them down, pulled back and thrust back inside her deliberately. She cried out as a multitude of fleshy bumps assailed her clit. Every one of them elicited a spark of pleasure. The ghost thrust again and thrust again and quickly developed a rhythm that enslaved her to her own needy arousal. It was like his cock was engineered especially to make her suffer the most sweetly, decadent throb at her juncture.

"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" she huffed.

She had never been brought to pleasure so swiftly and thoroughly before. Soon she was sobbing for release, begging him to stroke harder and faster. In short order, the bed was pounding against the wall as he pounded her cunt. Her ears filled with the smack of him in and out of her body. He relentlessly returned over and over and each time she thought that she would keel over the edge, somehow he managed to make her ache just a bit more. She was screaming, wailing - the pleasure became so intense she thought she might pass out. She didn't know whether he was plunging in or winding up to penetrate her when she finally came. Her hips bucked, her insides coiled and as if a great glacier fractured within her, she burst apart and the torrent of her orgasm gushed through her system. A thousand whips recoiled and cracked within her core. 

"Fuu-uuck! Unh! Unh, oh, go-o-o-o-od."

"Mmph! Molly!"

The ghost drove down, grunted and came. It was so fierce, he jerked her up the bed slightly. His back arched and he bent over her as he emptied. His member flexed and twitched and she could feel little pulses as he spurted his release up into her womb. When he was done, he sagged against her and then rolled her over on top of him.

For several moments, she lay with her cheek against his smooth chest. She found herself giggling as she listened to his heart slow. More time passed. Time enough that his cock softened within her and she became contemplative. She lifted her head when she encountered a thought she could not reconcile.

"Spirit," she asked as she raised her head, "I find myself vastly confused."

He brushed hair back from her face. His fingers gently caressed her cheeks.

"Mm?"

"I mean, I do not understand. The Ghosts of Past and Present showed me many things and they made me think but . . ."

"But?"

Molly looked down at his collar. She frowned. Her eyes flicked back up, wide and beseeching.

"I-I did not believe I was a bad person in need of repentance. I always thought I was at least decent and kind when I needed to be. I-I have always tried to be generous-

The ghost smiled softly. Her heart ached. She longed for the real Sherlock to look at her that way.

"You are Molly Hooper."

"Then why-?"

"To a fault," he murmured as he cupped her face, "you are generous to a fault, to your own detriment. See, these lessons the other ghosts and I bestow are not only for the miserable and miserly, but also for those are blind in other regards. You, my dear, were desperately in need of a lesson, but not to learn selflessness as you have that in abundance. You, Molly Hooper, needed to to learn to think of yourself. To ask for what you need and take it when the opportunity arose. This is the lesson we hoped to bestow, that _I_ hoped to bestow upon you, so that you might be equipped to attain some happiness in your life."

Tears slid down her cheeks. "So . . . all that stands between me and my future . . . of being with Sherlock, i-is me asking for what I want?"

He nodded. She almost choked up. Could it be so easy?

"B-But what if he doesn't want me-"

"Impossible," the ghost muttered, "you are lovely."

Molly searched the ghost's face. "Wh-What about you? Will I ever see you again?"

He smiled. "Only if that sod is stupider than any of us can imagine. Then yes, next year, of course. If you have not found your happiness, I will definitely . . . come again."

 


End file.
